Salted Popcorn
by Arrowsbane
Summary: "She likes sweet popcorn while he eats salted – which should be a crime in itself, but somehow he doesn't mind." Really, the signs were all there. Bloating, nausea, light-headedness. She only notices something is different when she realizes she's eating salted popcorn. [AU Spin off/stand alone. AU of an AU. RumSkye. Pregnancy trope. Wtf brain? I'm STILL blaming Ozhawk. Fluff.]


**Salted Popcorn**

 **Arrowsbane**

* * *

" _She likes sweet popcorn while he eats salted – which should be a crime in itself, but somehow he doesn't mind."_

* * *

It's a fluke. Downtime at the Triskellion due to a faulty fuel-line and Fury wanting Coulson to check in. So she sneaks off with Brock, big deal – it wouldn't be the first time. He's not complaining, not when they're both naked and tangled up in his sheets.

"Still haven't told them?" Brock asks when they're lying there, basking in the afterglow. Skye stretches, arching her back and then relaxing against him.

"Nope," she says, smirking.

"You're getting a kick out of this, aren't you?" He knows her too well.

"Hey, I gave them all the hints in the world." She protests, highly amused. "It's not my fault if they keep assuming I'm just a directionless hacker." Seriously, it's not like her Shield file is classified, anybody with Level 7 clearance can find it if they bother to look.

* * *

Going back to the bus stings a little more than usual. She misses the easy life she had in DC, breaking into Brock's flat whenever she felt like it – even after he gave her a key. The stainless steel object sits unused on a silver chain around her neck, a constant reminder of the only home she's ever really had.

She misses sleeping in his bed and waking up with his arm wrapped around her middle. Misses his panicked fussing over her whenever she tried to cook. Misses game nights with his team – she's still undefeated at Battleships.

It's been a month, and she's sleeping more than usual, but she does that in the fall. The dingy feeling brought on by winter weather usually forces a drop in her mood. So she doesn't think much on it.

* * *

Fitzsimmons cook eggs for breakfast and she hurls into the toilet for the next hour. She's not even sure if it was the smell, or the taste or the texture that set her off. She just assumes that she's eaten something she shouldn't. Coulson clears out the fridge just in case, and makes Ward do another grocery shop to make sure nobody else gets sick.

A week later, she's still throwing up _and_ she's suffering from nasty headaches. It's obviously the flu. Jemma makes her some soup and Fitz passes her a water bottle. Nobody minds when she spends her days in her pajamas and works from her bunk.

* * *

She's retaining water, and needing to pee a lot more often. It's as if she's drinking water only to go to the bathroom. Maybe she's been dehydrated? Does exercise do that to a person? Her jeans are starting to feel too tight, and when she uses the weighing scales bolted down in the bathroom, she's several pounds heavier than normal.

She ignores it, and pushes herself harder when it comes to strengthening exercises. The cookies in her side table need to go – Fitz likes peanut butter, he can have them.

* * *

It's not until a random movie night that the pieces begin to fall into place.

"Why are you eating my popcorn?" Fitz asks her. She blinks up at him, confused.

"Dude, you eat salted popcorn. Why would I eat yours?" she asks. In all honesty, she wasn't sure what had been put where, but a few kernels of each had helped her identify her choice.

"Skye, that _is_ salted." He insists and she gives him a weird look. "But it tastes good?" She's genuinely confused, honestly puzzled. Fitz blinks at her and settles down next to her.

"Maybe Ward moved them?" He says, reaching for the other bowl and stuffing a handful into his mouth only to spit it out a moment later.

"What the hell?" he complains, washing his mouth out with water. "It's sweet."

"Really?" Skye blinks. "I thought it tasted nasty."

"Definitely sweet." Fitz assures her.

"I'll go get a new batch." She offers, getting to her feet. Her plan of heading to the kitchen fails miserably when her vision swims and suddenly the room is moving in ways that defy the laws of physics. Everything goes black and she vaguely hears Fitz crying out in alarm and calling her name.

She wakes up in the infirmary with Jemma running tests on her blood and an IV in her arm.

"Ow," she complains, pressing a hand to her head. "What the hell happened?"

"You passed out," Jemma explains, watching her intently. "Low blood pressure, which of course is to be expected considering your condition. I'm a little hurt that you didn't tell me though."

"My condition?"

"You're pregnant Skye," Jemma says as if it should be obvious. Her face is so serious that Skye doesn't even bother calling bullshit.

"This is his goddamn fault," Skye curses and Jemma blinks owlishly.

"Um… Skye, it does take two to make a baby."

"What? I know that." She says.

"Then how is it – Wait," Jemma cuts off. "Who exactly are we talking about?"

"Er…" Skye falters under the scientist glower.

"Skye." Somehow that single use of her name sounds like a threat, and Skye wriggled uncomfortably.

"I'm not saying anything until I speak with Nick." Skye says firmly, ignoring the look she gets for using the Director's name so casually. It's been fun letting everybody assume she's a civilian… well, a normal one at any rate, but if she's really pregnant – oh god, she's not ready to be a mom, doesn't know how – she needs to be somewhere safe. Somewhere nice, with pillows and squishy chairs, not stressful situations and crazy plasma beams or mad scientists and electrical sniffles from outer space.

"Well that's good," Coulson's voice snaps her focus onto him, standing just inside the door, "because we're heading to the Triskellion now."

The expression on his face can only be described as disappointment, and its only sheer nerve that allows her to hold it all together until after he's gone – at which point she promptly bursts into tears. Jemma panics and fusses over her, handing over tissues like they're going out of fashion.

* * *

Waiting in a conference room at the Triskellion is nerve-wracking. Jemma, her stalwart defender, sits next to her, holding her hand as a show of moral support. Fitz follows his best friend and sits on Skye's other side, whereas Coulson, Ward and May sit across the table, eagle eyes fixed on the small brunette.

Hill wanders in with a cup of decaffeinated coffee and deposits it in front of her with a simple: "He'll be here soon." And then promptly disappears again on some other errand. Skye eyes the decaf balefully. It smells horrid, and so she nudges it to the side where it is promptly accepted by Fitz.

* * *

Brock barrels through the halls in a blind panic, his squad on his heels. All Maria said was that Skye needed him, was in trouble, and to head for Briefing room six. He scrambles up a flight of stairs, too impatient for the lifts and all but hurls himself into the room.

"This is your fault," she wails, throwing the nearest object at his head. Brock ducks, a surprised look on his face. It's not the usual greeting, considering they haven't seen each other in almost four months.

"What the hell woman?" He yelps, dodging the follow-up paperweight.

"I've been sick for weeks, my pants are starting to feel to snug and you don't even want to _know_ how many times a day I have to pee." A tablet flies through the air, only just being rescued by Rollins, who looks equally confused – as does Brock's entire squad.

"I ate salted popcorn," she rages, "Your child is corrupting me goddammit!" she snaps out and slumps in a chair. Brock stares at her. Then her words register in his brain and the smug-slash-pissed-off-expressions on her teams' faces make sense.

"My… child?" He says slowly, trying to process the new information.

"You're pregnant?" Rollin's interjects, backed up with curious noises from the other members of the Strike team.

"I call godfather," Jenson pipes up hurriedly, only to be over-shouted by Rollins who is in turn challenged by Summers and Wicks. It devolves into name calling and suddenly a competition begins.

He's grinning like a fool when he literally picks her up out of her chair, ignoring the protests of the science twins flanking her.

"Put me down," she yowls, clutching at him and burying her face in his shoulder all the same. _He's going to_ _be_ _a dad_.

"How did this happen?" He wonders out loud, and Skye gives him one of her _what-the-fuck_ looks.

"Well," she says, "when a guy and a girl get—" He puts a hand over her mouth, cutting off what would no doubt be a highly entertaining anecdote.

"I think my IUD failed or something," Skye admits sheepishly when he removes his hand after a moment.

"But it's still your fault!" she insists, waving a finger in his face.

"Oh?" He smirks as a terribly evil thought crosses his mind as he recalls the ring that's been sitting in his drawer for a good year. "Then I suppose, I'd best be taking responsibility then?"

"That is the worst proposal I've ever heard." Skye tells him and behind him, Rollins' suppresses a snicker.

"But you love me anyway," Brock reminds her.

"That I do." She agrees, and slumps forwards, burying her face in his Kevlar vest.

"None of this explains anything," Coulson says from where he is sitting on the other side of the table. Thus begins the great-and-humorous tale of the Strike Commander who was rescued by a hacker and the chaos that ensued.

* * *

Four months on, and Skye has gotten used to eating salted popcorn, even if she still hates the idea of it. The slim golden band sits on her ring finger, tiny aquamarines catching in the light and twinkling like little stars as she moves her hand around.

On the couch beside her sleeps Henry, a half-grown Australian sheep dog who became her companion when Brock decided that he didn't like the idea of her being home alone. She's back in DC once more, this time with a whole team of Special Forces panicking over her every move and competing to see who can find the best baby gift. Even Captain Rodgers drops off a very nice spring green blanket for the cradle that Brock sets up in their room.

["Congratulations," Natasha says, when they run into each other outside of Fury's office - and of course she knows – she's the best goddamn spy there is.

"How do you feel about being Godmother?" Skye asks her, happy to see the redhead. Romanoff is caught off guard, but after a beat she smiles widely and hugs the smaller woman.

"Anything for you Ghost."]

Her days of being looked-down-on by Coulson's team are past, although she stays in touch with Jemma and Fitz – both of whom are overly excited to be honorary Aunt and Uncle to the soccer player growing inside her belly (although Jenson argues that the kid is trying to get a jumpstart on his black belt).

* * *

In the end, it's a girl. They name her Natalie. Brock straight up cries – although Skye hears him firmly tell their daughter that boys are evil. Henry curls up protectively around the tiny pink bundle as if in agreement. Between the two of them, the Strike Squad and having an Avenger for a godmother, Skye thinks her baby will be plenty safe.

It isn't what she had planned for her future, but she still wouldn't have it any other way.

* * *

 **Ozhawk and Lady Winterlight.  
**

 **This is a standalone. It exists in the verse: "Like a comet blazing across the evening sky" but is not an actual part of the main AU. An AU of an AU if you will. Takes place during Skye's time on the Bus, but definitely Pre-Winter Soldier.**

 **Feel free to request shots for this Verse.**


End file.
